Prologue to a Legend
by Going2Fast
Summary: We all know of the exploits of the Sand Island Squadron, a.k.a. 'Demons of Razgriz' and their flight lead Blaze, but their pasts are completely speculation. This story is my idea of Blaze's childhood and the events leading up to the events of AC5. Review!


With the precision of a surgeon, the pilot brought the nose of his vintage T-6 'Texan' to bear on the field before him. Once he was at the drop point, his gloved hand firmly pressed the toggle switch. The effects were immediate as the plane lurched several feet up as 300 gallons of pesticide was dumped. With the external tanks empty, he rammed the throttle forward and pulled back on the yoke inducing a rather sharp climb. Immediately, the airspeed dropped and the altitude increased. Just before the stall speed limit, he cut power and pressed the left rudder pedal to the floor causing the crop duster to perform a flat left yaw turn. Once he leveled out, a familiar voice filled the canopy.

"Son, I heard that!"

A small smile formed on the pilot's mouth at the sound of his father's voice referring to his abrupt increase of throttle.

"Gasoline ain't cheap Trey! Now, you're done right? Go ahead and bring her down and give me a hand!

"Yes sir." Trey reluctantly lowered the landing gear and brought the tired old bird down onto its landing field of dirt and grass.

With the engine stopped, the sixteen year old pilot clambered out of the former trainer turned crop duster and turned to glamour at the machine. To most, it was just a junky old plane left over from some forgotten era. To Trey however, it was a work of art, and a means of survival. He had never known his mother, and his entire life had been devoted to helping his father with his crop dusting business. So much so that when he wasn't at school, he had a wrench in his hand or was riding shotgun and learning the basics of flight. As he got older, he found himself taking point and sitting in the pilot's seat more and more. When he was in control, his imagination took over. Flying over farms day in and day out was horribly dull and boring, so he found himself playing fighter pilot. After each pass, he would pitch up and bank hard pushing the radial monoplane to its limit. It wasn't an F-15, but the groaning of metal and the positive g-forces ramming him in his seat were enough.

"Hop in." Trey turned to see his father waiting in the pickup. Without hesitation, he climbed into the cab and asked, "Where are we going?"

His father put the truck in gear and headed for the road. "One of the piston heads needs replacing because someone feels the need to hot rod the plane. Because of that, we're gonna go see if they have any spares at the base."

Trey shyly looked away in embarrassment. He had never told his dad about his 'dogfights', but it seemed it showed. Thankfully, his father's tone was unthreatening. It was as if this sort of incident was to be expected.

On the rare occasion that he wasn't working or studying, Trey loved to listen to his father's war stories. Captain William "Guns" Nilsson was an Osean fighter pilot during the Belkan War. He had flown F-16C's and had a knack for closing to gun range very quickly; hence the callsign 'Guns'. In addition to learning about his father's personal story, it was definitely awe inspiring when he spoke of the fearsome pilots that burned their way into history. One in particular that Trey loved to hear about was the famous 'Demon of the Round Table'. What better role model to a young aviator than arguably the best fighter pilot that ever lived? Whenever his father spoke of the blue and white Eagle, he always did so in the highest regard. On one such occasion, he said "That Galm One set the standard that all fighter pilots worked to achieve. While the task seemed impossible, it was the highest honor to just try". It was those very words that confirmed Trey's goal of becoming a real fighter pilot.

It didn't take long for the father and son to arrive at the gate of Emerson AFB seeing as they lived just a few miles down the road from it. When they got there, the MP just waved and opened the gate. Trey's father was something of a regular here, so the base personnel treated him as if he was still active duty. When they arrived at the hangar Trey figured was their destination, they were greeted by an officer wearing gold oak leaves. Major Brooks had been his father's wingman in the war, so it was natural they were still friends.

"Will! Pleasant surprise! To what do I owe the pleasure?" asked the Major.

His father then laughed a bit and replied, "Oh, the son here just about blew one of the pistol heads off my plane so I was hoping you might have a few spares."

"Oh, I'm sure we got something that you can use. C'mon back!" With that, the Major led the former Captain away leaving Trey alone in the cap of his father's truck.

Emerson AFB was a bit of an oddball. It had been constructed just prior to World War Two and had served as a fueling station for long-range bombers. In addition, it was a training facility for new pilots. In the present day however, it was nothing more than an auxiliary base with just a handful of pilots. Because it was often overlooked and had been around since the days of propellers, many of the storage hangars still had parts for many of the radial engines used at the time.

Being left behind, Trey groaned a bit and looked out toward the nearest hangar. It was then he noticed the door leading inside was open. With his curiosity spiked, he walked the short distance to the hangar. It was incredibly dark inside; so much it was pitch black. Trey fumbled on the wall for the light switch and after several frustrating seconds struck gold. It took awhile, but the lights finally came alive and illuminated the interior of the hangar. What he saw induced wide eyes and a dropped jaw. There, in front of him, was an F-4E Phantom. While it may just look mistreated and forgotten, this was Trey's first time seeing a fighter jet this close. Unable to contain himself, he quickly checked behind him to make sure the coast was clear. When he decided the coast was clear, he ran to the canopy and scrambled into the pilot's seat. It was a sixteen year olds dream! The cockpit was just so much cooler than the T-6 he flew back at home. Again, his excitement came forth and he slowly rested his hands on the stick and throttle. It was then that the hangar disappeared. He was no longer on the ground, but way up in the clouds drawing contrails and flying fast. The g-forces were intense, but he finally got the enemy plane in his gun sight and let loose with a barrage of twenty-millimeter cannon fire. The end result was expected as the enemy fell out of the sky in a blazing fireball. "Scratch one!"

"Scratch one what?" asked a familiar voice.

Trey immediately woke from his day dream to see the Major and his father looking up at him. "Crap! I'm sorry sir!" he pleaded as he hurried to get down. He had certainly got carried away.

The Major then laughed a bit and said, "Sounds like you were winning." The man's face then lightened a bit before saying, "Your father here tells me you've become quite the pilot. How'd you like to go up in that Phantom?"

Trey's initial response was one of speculation and doubt. Who in their right mind would let a sixteen year old near a fighter jet, much less fly one? It was then that he noticed his father smile. Once he saw that, he knew this offer was completely legitimate. "Are you serious sir? I can pilot the Phantom?" he asked rhetorically while trying to suppress his overwhelming excitement. Finally, Trey smiled and nodded. "It would be an honor sir!"

"Good, but before you can be a real pilot, you need a callsign. Do you have one in mind?" questioned the Major.

Being so excited, Trey for the life of him couldn't think of one so he slowly shook his head.

The Major smiled and said, "Then Blaze it is!"


End file.
